


Dusk till Dawn

by dewdrop_juuri



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slice of Life, Sort of Character Analysis, Yankee, delinquent! Omi, nachi is still alive in this one, pre-Mankai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewdrop_juuri/pseuds/dewdrop_juuri
Summary: There was only one thing that the students exchanged in anxious whispers across the confines of a certain highschool: Never get involved with the Mad Wolf or suffer the dire consequences.Yet little did they know, there was more to the story of his scars, his bruises, and the blood that he bore on his skin. To them, he was a dangerous entity--the boy with the bruised face and battle scars; the feared legend behind the handlebars of a motorbike.But to you, he was simply just Omi Fushimi--a troublemaker who would swipe snacks from the nurse's office; a gentle soul who could bake the daintiest cakes; and the boy who held your very heart in his hands.
Relationships: Fushimi Omi/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 76





	1. our story begins like this

**Author's Note:**

> in between marathons of yankee drama series, this small idea popped into my head. basically, this is my own analysis and interpretation of Omi's past and it was interesting to explore his personality before he came to Mankai. 
> 
> In short, the concept of delinquent! Omi couldn't get out of my head so this happened lolz

Part I. 

\---

[ I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know there’s nothing but light when I see you. ]

_ Shinji Moon, The Anatomy of Being _

_ \--- _

Fushimi Omi had appeared in your life like a storm in the middle of the summer--sudden, pouring , and unexpected.

You were organizing the rolls of gauze in the school nurse’s office as required of your medical committee duties when the door to the clinic slides open with a bang, and his looming figure contrasted dimly against the light from the school hallways.

You had heard the rumors of course. In fact, the very first words your classmates had carefully advised to you under their breath once you had settled in class during your transfer from Sendai were succinctly summarized in seven words: Never get involved with Mad Wolf Omi. 

Not that you had intended to trifle with him in any way. With a perpetual scowling face and towering at 6 feet tall, Fushimi Omi’s penchant for violence was spoken of in fearful reverence. He is a member of one of the strongest gangs around town, and the way he usually arrived in class late, knuckles bruised and bloodied, with patches of gauze and bandages wrapped around his head, only fueled the fear that surrounded his persona.

So when Mad Wolf Omi appears in front of the nurse’s office, your heart was all but ready to jump out of your chest.

“Huh, no one’s usually here at this time,” He starts, his gaze betraying slight surprise and irritation as he stepped inside. “But whatever, I guess.” 

Without waiting for a response from you, he strides with purpose inside the clinic and makes his way towards one of the beds, plops himself right into the center of the mattress, stretches his legs and makes himself comfortable. Once he settles down, he directs his gaze to you, one eyebrow raised to acknowledge your presence.

“So, who’re you?” He starts, and at the sound of his voice calling out your attention, you snapped out of your momentary trance, and pivot slowly to face him. Schooling your face into the most calm you could muster, you cross your arms in front of your chest and cleared your throat before addressing him.

“The infirmary room isn’t a place where you can just lounge in whenever you want to play hooky,” You start, thankful to the gods above that your voice did not waver. “...Fushimi-san.” 

A few seconds pass and the room settles into a sort of unnerving silence. When he adjusts from his lazy sprawl into a sitting position on the mattress, you couldn’t help but swallow a nervous lump down your throat. Omi was silent, save for those amber eyes of his assessing your figure with a detached interest. 

Then, he rose from the bed, and your heart almost ceases beating in your chest as he takes one, two steps towards where you were standing. Instinctively, you tighten your grip on your arms in alarm, backing away slowly as he advances towards you.

When your back hits the nearest wall to you as you ran out of room, you couldn’t help but let out a small squeak when Omi was only an arms’ breadth away. From the intense look in his eyes, he was all but ready to throttle the life out of you so you closed your eyes, silently praying for it to be over swiftly and-- _ oh my god he’s going to beat me up…! _

_ “Pfft.” _

Your thoughts get interrupted when someone snorts in amusement in the room. 

Tentatively you open your eyes, only for them to widen in surprise as Omi,  _ Mad Wolf Omi _ , covered his mouth with one hand, chuckling to himself at your frozen expression. You let your hands fall to your sides, blinking, at the sight. 

If blood-stained, bare-knuckled Fushimi Omi was a sight to see, him snickering in amusement was another level of downright terrifying. 

_ Ah, _ you thought to yourself, resigning your fate to the heavens above.  _ I’m going to die for real, huh. _

“Well that was something.” Omi interrupts your brooding right then when he finishes snickering, his gaze returning to you. This time, amusement danced in his eyes. “Hey, you. You’re the newbie?” 

Mute with surprise and relief flooding in your body at the prospect of being spared right there, you could only nod dumbly in agreement. At your affirmation, Omi hums lowly, backing away from where he stood and swiping a couple of lollipops from the stash you kept on the desk.

“I’ll let you off today with this,” He calls out from over his shoulders, one hand raised to show two pieces of candy he was carrying. He turns and throws one last glance at you, the corner of his lips lifting up in a grin. “See ya around, Miss Medical Committee Member.” 

Once the clinic door slides shut and the school bell rang for first period, you sink to your knees on the floor and exhaled loudly in relief.

* * *

Since that incident at the clinic, it didn’t take long for your fear for Omi to develop into a quiet interest.

Your eyes almost immediately get drawn to his figure whenever he enters the room. Most of the times, you find yourself secretly sneaking glances at the rarer times he had let his guard down: dozing off contentedly at the back of the room in English class; the small grin he has on his face when he fools around in PE and that strong profile as he walks off into the sunset, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arms as he prepared to ride with his gang.

You had grown tolerant of his pestering as well, just mildly chastising him while he was lounging out and about in the nurse’s office during your shift. From your first encounter with him, you had learned to just let him be, forming an unvoiced treaty as he lounges in the empty beds in the infirmary while you had worked on sorting the student files while the school nurse was out. So long as he wasn’t bothering you directly, you had no problem with it

Today was one of those days. From the sound of footsteps approaching and the door sliding open, you knew that it was him.

“You’ll get in trouble again,” You prompt by way of greeting, eyes trained on the clipboard you were using for your inventory checking as Omi heaves a sigh and sinks into the nearest bed. “Itou-sensei won’t let you off with skipping out on his supplemental classes, you know.”

“That old man can shove it.” Omi replies, voice muffled by the pillows. “He just drones on about the functions of polynomials, I haven’t got a clue what it's about.” 

“Can’t argue with that,” You quip, nodding in understanding. Itou was the crabby Maths teacher who was always finding fault with any student he finds problematic. “But he’ll hound you after you skip out on him and it’s not really a pleasant experience.” 

“Eh, not like he can catch me anyways.” He turns around in his sleep, this time watching you work silently for a moment before saying something again. “Hey, you have anything to eat here?”

“Unbelievable.” You drop your clipboard and whirl on him, planting your hands on your hips as you direct a glare at him. “You know that the snacks here are for the injured students, right?” 

“Hey, I’m an injured patient, too,” Omi retorts, straightening to a sitting position and pointing to a healing bruise on his right eye, a detail you failed to notice when he strode inside the room. Now that he pointed that out, your jovial mood plummeted just as quick, your brows furrowing in concern as you drop your clipboard and step towards him.

“Let me see,” You stated, pulling a stool so you could sit across him, eyes trained on the injury on his eye. Without thinking of the consequences, you reach out for his cheek, your gaze clinically assessing the scope of his injury. “When did you get--”

Your question gets cut off when you turn back to face him, only this time, he was staring you down seriously, sitting stiff on top of the mattress. You tilt your head, confused at his sudden silence, then remember you still have your palm on his cheek.

“I’m sorry. I overstepped,” Mortified, you stumble over your words, a fierce blush working its way from your cheeks to the tips of your ears as you made to draw your hand back but to your surprise, Omi grasps your wrist before you could move away, stilling your palm on his cheek.

“Fushimi-san--” 

“ _ It’s Omi _ .” 

“Huh?” You blink confusedly at his sudden interruption. He was staring at you with a serious expression on his face, the sunset drawing out the golden flecks in his amber-eyes. Your heart skips a beat.

“Being called by my last name makes me itch,” Omi clarifies, his voice soft as he squeezes gently on your wrist. “Just call me Omi.”

“Uh, hm.” You squeak out intelligently, your mind actually short-circuiting at the distance between the two of you. “I’ll keep that in mind, but uh, more importantly, we need to get some ice on that--”

**“** Omi, you here? **”**

A new voice--loud, raucous, and overbearing--sends you moving away from each other, you toppling over your stool in your hurry to stand up and separate. A boy pokes his head inside the clinic, and you had instantly recognized him as one of Omi’s closest gang buddies, Nachi. 

“Not too loud, Nachi.” Omi grumbles, dusting his shirt off as he picks himself off the bed, moving towards where his friend was standing. “What’s up?”

“Idiot, did you forget what today is? We’re supposed to--” Nachi begins but his eyes slide to your figure, halting his speech. “Didn’t realize you were with company, man.”

At his inquisitive glance, you freeze up, nervously tucking stray strands of your hair behind your ears as you busied yourself with arranging and rearranging the medical supplies on the shelves. 

“Nah, I was just leaving.” You heard the bed springs creak as Omi rises up from the mattress, stretching his arms as he goes, padding his way towards Nachi and slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Miss Student Nurse here was just looking after my injuries.” 

“What were you saying again, Nachi?” Omi continues, prompting Nachi to continue his interrupted speech. 

“I’ll tell you on the way out, man.” From your peripheral vision, you could feel Nachi rest his gaze on yours. “Not sure if she should be hearing this.” 

_ Hey, I could hear you though,  _ You thought bitterly in your head, pouting slightly as you continued to pretend to rearrange the bottles.  _ What, think this Miss Student Nurse can’t handle a little violent story? _

“Right, sure. I’ll be there, just give me a sec.” You hear Omi say and without much preamble, you hear the door to the clinic slide close. When you turn back, you see Omi leaning against the doorframe, almost as if he was expecting something from you. Nachi had gone ahead, it seems, but you were sure he was listening behind the closed door.

“So, looks like you have...stuff to do,” You begin, not knowing how to handle this atmosphere. Your eyes drift to his bruised eye and a tinge of worry settles into you, knowing very well that from the serious look on his face that he has to go and get involved into more fighting. “Just press an ice pack to that for at least 15 minutes for several times each day. It’s healing anyways.”

“Got it. Thanks.” Omi replies back, his expression reverting to his usual curt tone. When Nachi knocks twice on the door, he turns his back on you to slide the door open to leave. As he walks into the hallways, Nachi offers you a slight bow before the clinic door closes with a click. 

As the sound of their footsteps fade into the sunset, you couldn’t help but feel an unnerving feeling settle in your chest.

* * *

“You’re getting awfully chummy with the new girl.”

Omi spares a glance at his Second, Nachi who had a dopey grin on his face as he handed over a can of cold soda. Omi takes it with a click of his tongue, snapping the top open and watching the carbonated drink fizz out unto the lid.

“Mind your own business, Nachi.” Omi barks back, taking a swig from the drink and cringing slightly when the fizzy drink makes its way down his throat. “You’re like a housewife eager for gossip, man.”

“Aww come on, I’m just looking out for you!” Nachi complains, laughing a bit as he takes a swig out of his own drink. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were embarrassed as hell right now.”

“Shut it.”

“She seems nice, though.” Nachi laughs at that taking another swig of his drink before his expression turns serious once more. “All the more reason why you shouldn’t be involving her into our world, Omi.” 

“Nothing gets past you, huh.” Omi replies, a sardonic smile playing on his lips as the implications of Nachi’s words got across him clearly. Nachi offers his friend a shrug.

“You wear your feelings on your sleeve, dude. Doesn’t exactly take rocket science, you know? But seriously, Omi.” Nachi retorted with a small grin, until his expression reverts to a serious one again. “She’s different than us, and if you do care for her, you’d keep your distance.”

Of course, he goddamn knows. He was all too aware of the sort of crowd he’s embroiled in--the blood, the brawls, the high-speed adrenaline whenever he’s on his bike. Omi had been closely dancing with trouble ever since he took up leadership of Wolf, and while he loved the thrill of courting with danger, getting to know you these past couple of months and watching your wary glances and guarded postures morph into something softer had struck a chord in him.

Spending quiet afternoons in the infirmary with you as you worked on your shift for the medical committee served as a welcome change. For once, he felt like he had a place he could return to, without worrying about keeping up appearances and he come to appreciate your willingness to patch up his wounds, the feel of your soft skin against his something that he had wanted to savor for a while longer.

But Nachi was right. In the end, Omi was a delinquent, the infamous Mad Wolf, and direct association with you will only place you in more danger. 

Omi’s grip on his soda can tightens, bending the metal into an irregular shape. If Nachi notices, he doesn’t comment.


	2. bruises and bandages

Part II. 

\---

[ You are terrifying, and strange and beautiful; someone not everyone knows how to love.]

_ Warsan Shire _

\---

By the second month of your stay in school, Fushimi Omi had figured out where you lived, and it happened purely by coincidence.

It happened during one particular rainy evening. You had just finished dinner by then--a quick meal of convenience store rice balls and a bottle of orange juice, when two pounding knocks on your door broke through the usual calm evenings you had savored after dinner.

You had barely unlatched the chain off the door of the small house that your parents had rented for you, when Omi’s figure looms in front of your doorway, much like the day you had first met him. 

He had not shown his face in class in the past few weeks after your last incident at the infirmary. His after-class visits to pry some snacks away from the infirmary had halted, too, so when he suddenly shows up in front of your house in the middle of the night, your emotions were in turmoil.

“Omi?” You whispered tentatively, your eyes slowly taking in his appearance--leather jacket, torn jeans, laced-up boots--as you maintained an arms’ length distance from his figure. “Wh-what the hell happened--”

Except that you weren’t able to finish your question when his body suddenly pitches forward, prompting you to catch him awkwardly in your arms to break his fall. Struggling with his weight, you strained yourself to maintain an upright posture, but stop when his breaths quicken, almost panting, as his face scrunches up in an expression of pain--

“Oh my god, you’re bleeding!” You gasp out, eyes moving to the arm you were supporting, finally catching the streaks of blood on his skin, which ended as miniscule droplets on your  _ genkan _ floor. “I’ll call for a hosp--”

“No hospitals.” You gave a yelp when his hands catch your wrist, smearing his blood on your skin as he meets your gaze with an almost frenzied reaction. His amber-eyes, normally detached and cool, were now blazing with the pain of the injuries he bore as he stared at you. “Too...much...trouble.” 

“But the blood--” You start, but he immediately cuts it off with a rough squeeze of your wrists, causing you to flinch from the pain. 

“Not mine.” He gasps out, shoving his shoulder into the confines of your home as his back slams your door closed. “Just...badly bruised.” 

Yet from the way his face was scrunching up in pain whenever his chest heaves as he takes deep breaths, it had appeared to be more than just plain bruises. Omi leans back into your door, forcing his back to be in an upright position as much as he could muster.

Willing your nerves to stay calm, you took a deep breath and worked your way free out of his grip, and whispered a small “Excuse me,” before lifting up the ends of his shirt to expose his chest, prompting a weak “Oi!” from the male. 

Under his shirt, a slight swelling has emerged around his chest, and it had a tenderness to it when you had brushed your hands against it, making the male flinch in pain at your sudden touch. Drawing your hand back, you bit your lower lip as it had confirmed your suspicions. He had broken a rib--several from the severity of the injury. 

Without much preamble, you rise up from the floor and padded to your kitchen, retrieving the first aid kit you had stacked on top of one of the cupboards. Flinging the door of your fridge open, you wrench the chiller tray open, snatching the ice pack that you kept there in case of medical emergencies and slammed it shut with more force than necessary.

Wasting no more time, you swiped a few clean towels off the overhead racks, making your way back to Omi, who was drifting in and out of unconsciousness. Without hesitation, you reach out to his cheeks, tapping your palm softly against the skin to bring his attention back to you.

“Looks like you have a broken rib,” You prompt by way of making sure he was still coherent. At his answering glare, you swallow your nervousness away before reaching for his shirt again. “...I need to reduce the swelling so it’ll lessen the pain.” 

“Just..do...what you have to do,” He grumbles by way of reply, the motion of letting those words out alone adding to the pain his broken chest was already experiencing. Taking it as a sign of his approval, you set to work on taking his shirt off but stop when you realize the implications of your actions.

“Not the time to get flustered, [Y/N]!” You berate yourself under your breath, willing your stupid hormones to behave as your cheeks begin to get heated. Taking a steadying breath, you reach for the surgical scissors off your medical kit and began to tear the fabric of Omi’s shirt.

“Oi, what do you think you’re doing--” He begins to protest, “This shirt was hard to--”

“With all due respect, ” You bark back, face flushed and thoughts hanging on their last shreds of coherency, “I’m trying to save your life.”

At that, Omi cools, clicking his tongue and turning his head away from you. Taking his silence as a cue for you to continue, you snipped the last bit of fabric away, revealing the injury underneath. Taking another steadying breath, you went to work, from pressing the ice pack to reduce the swelling around his chest to finally securing the injured area with a bunch of soft towels supported by a generous amount of gauze and medical tape.

In the process of your treatment, Omi had simply remained quiet, his breaths slowing as his eyes drifted shut. As you taped the last of the medical adhesive tape against the makeshift support on his chest, Omi had already drifted to sleep and you exhaled a breath that you realized you were holding in. 

Like this, he looked less of the Mad Wolf everybody feared and more like a regular high school boy, sleep relaxing his features. You didn’t know how he managed to get this beat up, and wasn’t sure if you would ever want to know why, but the feel of his skin under your fingers, reminded you that Fushimi Omi was human, too--that he could feel pain, and get hurt--and that seeing him like this made your chest clench painfully.

Gently, you reach for a towel to drape over his body. For now, you would let him sleep. The questions could wait until the morning comes.

* * *

Omi wakes to the rays of daylight streaming through a pair of blinds and the smell of burnt butter.

He blinks his eyes once, then twice, as he adjusts to the sudden brightness that flooded his vision. Surveying his surroundings, he finds himself in a quaint studio-type townhouse, and wonders how the hell did he get into this place. 

He makes a move to rise, but groans when pain blooms on his chest and he looks down, surprised to see a thin layer of fresh linen bandages encircling his ribs and the cool sensation of an ice pack secured in place by strips of medical tape. His shirt and leather jacket were nowhere to be found and his neck aches with a stiffness that is commonly associated with sleeping in a wrong angle.

He vaguely remembers the faint familiar voice calling his attention, a soft palm tapping his cheek, and gentle touches that tended to the injuries on his chest. 

“Oh thank goodness, you’re awake.” 

His head snaps to the direction of a familiar voice across the hallway. Omi blinks, taking in the figure of someone he had last expected to see--clad in a pair of walking shorts, a loose cream shirt, and messy [h/c] strands tucked into a hastily-made ponytail, [y/n] offers him a small smile.

“How--” He begins, only to wince at the pain when he attempts to stand up, prompting [y/n] to dash to where he was, crouching by his side with a steady hand anchored on his shoulders. 

“You shouldn’t be moving so suddenly,” She starts, squeezing his shoulder softly as she sidles next to him, offering a shoulder to lean on. “You might’ve broken a rib or two and I just did what I could to lessen the pain.” 

At her explanation, Omi turns to face her, his eyes taking in the signs of the sleepless night she no doubt spent fussing and caring for him. The normal [e/c] eyes that held a calm, intelligent expression were now dull and tired, and the way that she kept stifling in her yawns were evidence enough of the fatigue she carried.

Then, her eyes turned to face him, and to Omi’s surprise, her cheeks flushed, her blush moving to the tip of her ears. Without much warning, she faced away just as quick. 

“L-let me help you up. You, uh, must be hungry right?” [y/n] rambles, changing the conversation topic suddenly that Omi couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow at her sudden attitude change. “I hope you don’t mind toast? It’s all I could make on such a short time--”

“Mm, toast sounds good.” Omi replies, slinging his arm over her shoulders as she helped him up. Leaning into her side, he stays quiet as they make their way down the hallway and into the kitchen. With each step he takes, a small smile touches his lips.

Being fussed over like this once in a while wasn’t too bad.

* * *

“So, you live alone?” 

You were buttering your second piece of toast, eyes focused on your plate when Omi suddenly springs the question on you. Looking up, you find him gazing around your empty apartment as he tore into his own plate of toast in quick bites.

“Yeah, I do.” You reply, placing down the bread knife on your plate with a soft clink as you pushed your chair back and headed to the fridge, unpinning a magnetic frame that housed a family portrait--you, your father, and your mother in a goofy pose in front of an amusement park. “My parents work as volunteer doctors outside the country, so they sent me here in Tokyo to continue my studies while they’re out.” 

“They rented this place for me to use,” You continue, pacing back to the table and placing the magnetic frame on the table for Omi to see. He returns his attention back to you and you watch, as he takes the photo in his hands and gazes at the family portrait.

“Well, that explains your medical experience, then.” He says after a while, placing the photo back on top of the table as he pins his gaze unto you. “You want to be a doctor like them?”

You nod in agreement. “Well, it’s kind of expected you know? A daughter of doctors to pursue med school,” You stated lacing your fingers together on top of the table. “I’m just getting all the experience and training I could get.” 

“You honor students are on a different pedestal,” Omi comments, laughing a bit and you bristled at that.

“Well, I’ll have you know--” You start your retort, irritation seeping in your voice, but the expression on his face stops you from continuing with your outburst.

Fushimi Omi, the boy with the perpetual scowl on his face was sending a smile your way. Not the sarcastic, cutting grin that you expected, but a genuine, light-up-the-face, soft smile that made his rough features look softer and tender in the morning light.

Your heart pounds a bit loudly inside your chest.

“I think it’s admirable,” He continues, unbothered by your attempt at an outburst. “At least, you’re looking forward to working for something in the future. You have a goal.” 

“I kind of envy you, [y/n].” He finishes, sending a small grin to your direction. Unable to say anything else to that, you clamp your mouth shut, focusing on anywhere else but his face, then drifting to his bandaged chest. 

“Say, would you mind telling me what happened?” Your eyes narrow and you unlaced your fingers together to tap them on top of the dining table. “Your...injuries. Looks like you were in serious trouble.” 

“Ah, that…” He begins, his hand going up to ruffle his hair, his grin from earlier turning into a grimace. “Some new gang was starting something on our turf. Harassed some of our newbies and beat them up.” 

“Whole gang went on a raid to their haunt, but fighting got a little intense.” He continues, his palm this time moving down to pat the bandages on his chest softly. “Some dude took me by surprise and I took a metal bat to the chest.” 

“Sounds...you had a tough time.” You replied back, blinking your eyes as you attempted to process the details of the violence he had unleashed on his enemies the previous night. “...how did you figure out where my place is, though?”

At that, his expression turns from grim to something sheepish and it made you raise an eyebrow.

“Would you believe me if I told you if it was all a coincidence?” Omi starts, his eyes looking anywhere except to you. At his reply, you raised an eyebrow, disbelief in your features that he releases a sigh and ruffles his hair in frustration again.

“All right. I just saw you by chance walking along the route we usually take on our rides from the supermarket.” He mumbles. “Then, I just kind of memorized it and figured it out. I didn’t exactly know which house was yours and just knocked on the first one I saw, hoping it was yours.” 

The sheer ridiculousness of this left you baffled and at the same time, left you slightly irritated.

“So after days of disappearing on me without a trace and pretending I don’t exist, this is what you do?” You sputter out, “...you stalk me? What’s next on the list?” 

“In my defense, you shouldn’t have opened the door so eagerly.” Omi counters, bristling slightly with anger. “Maybe should’ve peeked out of the window or something--” 

“ _ Unbelievable. _ ” You breathe out. “Don’t pin this on me, I helped you out of the goodness of my heart--”    
  


“And I owe you one for that.” Omi counters. “No matter how we came to this, this still doesn’t change the fact that you saved my life. You didn’t turn me away, and instead helped me out.” 

“You’re a good person, [y/n].” He finishes, and at the sound of your first name rolling off his lips, you freeze. He never called you by name before: it was always,  _ Miss Student Nurse _ , or just simply  _ you _ . 

“Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll stay away from this area completely,” At your silence, Omi took it as his cue to leave, rising from his seat. “I won’t bother you from now on.” 

He pushes his chair back, turning his back against you and was preparing to go down the hallway to leave when you exhale a long sigh.

“Omi. Wait.” You begin, and he stops, turning slightly to face you. At his furrowed eyebrows and downcast gaze, you could tell he was reflecting. “It was unfair of me to lash out on you, too. Just, promise me one thing.” 

“Anything.” He prompts back as quick. At the expression on his face, your heart was all but ready to jump out of your chest.

“I can take care of myself, you know. You don’t have to worry about me all the time and pull this disappearing shit on me,” You begin, the emotions of the past few weeks just doubling over and pouring out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Because honest to God, if something ever happens to you and I wasn’t able to help you in time….I’ll….I’ll…” 

You falter in your speech, realizing you have lost your cool. Omi was still waiting, expectant of your reply and you had to swallow a nervous lump before continuing on.

“...I’ll be sad.” You finish lamely, aware that your blush has returned full force, and this was not from anger anymore but embarrassment as well. “As weird as it seems, you’d somehow become of a...friend.” 

A pregnant silence ensues and you were all ready to bury yourself under the ground. Did you just really call Omi,  _ Mad Wolf Omi _ , a friend of yours? You might as well have said that it’ll be raining cash on Sunday or just--

In the midst of your brooding, you feel a soft hand pat the top of your head. You raise your head up, only to blink several times as Omi began to stroke your hair softly.

“Right, okay. Sorry for worrying you, then.” He replies, his voice soft and void of any of the roughness he’s used with others. “...I’ll be careful.” 

Much later, when he had changed into an old shirt from your father’s drawers and shrugged his leather jacket on, you stand on your front porch, watching as he revvs his bike’s engine to life. When Omi flashes you a small smile under his helmet and speeds off in the morning light, you hold your palm to your chest, feeling the steady, beating rhythm of your heart.


End file.
